


you had your soul with you

by earlgreyson



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, with a little demonic angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 09:52:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreyson/pseuds/earlgreyson
Summary: After the world is supposed to end but doesn't, Crowley and Aziraphale have a conversation about a certain book of prophecy.





	you had your soul with you

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by The National's song You Had Your Soul With You.  
> unbeta'd.

The weekend after the apocalypse dawned sunny and warm, which felt misplaced to Crowley. The world kept spinning because it didn’t know it should have stopped and the humans moved unhurriedly across the demon’s path as he worked his way across London. He could have taken the Bentley and gotten to his destination much quicker, but Crowley no longer felt the need for urgency. He had no more missions, no more jobs, no more bosses. He was a free demon and he had no idea how to handle that.

So he walked. Meandered. Wandered without care or direction. The early morning sun warmed his shoulders, soaking into the black fabric of his jacket pleasantly.

For a moment Crowley wondered if this was what being human felt like. He could almost get used to it.

He wandered past St. James Park, took the long way past Piccadilly, and found himself following the Thames deep in thought. A small woman with chestnut skin and a bright grin sold coffee from a small red cart, Crowley listened for a moment as she poured him a dark cup and chatted about the beautiful day. He nodded appropriately and gave her a smile as he paid and walked away.

He only got a few steps before sighing and turning around, asking for a cup of tea with enough sugar to take down a horse. The woman gave him a knowing look but said nothing as she prepared the tea. A quick thanks and Crowley moved on with a distinct purpose.

Aziraphale had been a little distant since the almost end of the world. Crowley could tell that the angel was struggling with this new status quo, the newly realized freedom from the plans of others. While Aziraphale had long been an independent party, he’d always used orders from above as a kind of shield, and now without them he felt lost. Unmoored. It wasn’t a feeling the angel was used to.

So Crowley had given Aziraphale some space in the days following their near end. He knew how the man worked, knew that anything worth doing happened slowly with him. But Aziraphale wasn’t the only one feeling adrift at sea, Crowley was just searching for something different than orders.

Turning away from the river, Crowley delicately sipped his coffee as he walked up the slowly busying street that led towards the bookshop. Maybe he could convince Aziraphale to come out for breakfast and bloody marys. Crowley was quite proud of that particular invention,  a cure-all and inhibitor all at once combined with the social acceptability of weekend morning drunkenness. Girls’ brunches easily turned into tipsy cat fights which always gave the demon a little surge of glee.

There were still things that needed to be said, things that needed to be dealt with. But as Crowley followed his feet the slightest thread of doubt wound through him. It had been 6,000 years already, it could probably wait _at least_ another thousand. But even as Crowley watched that thought flicker by he knew it wasn’t true. Some things could wait, but some things had gone on for far too long. He could feel the weight of it in his breast pocket and it felt like chains sometimes.

The pale stone of Aziraphale’s bookshop glowed golden in the morning sun, no sign of the fire that had consumed his world remained. Crowley had to blink the memory of the bright flames from his eyes before adjusting his sunglasses and waving the door open. He slipped on a smirk as he let the door close and lock behind him. A light shone from the darkened rear of the shop and Crowley followed it.

Aziraphale had been up late reading, the demon could tell because the smaller man had fallen asleep at his desk again, face pressed into the book and the angel’s gentle breathing lightly brushed the page. If Crowley was being honest with himself, which as a demon of Hell he tried hard not to do at times, Aziraphale almost looked cherubic in his sleep. He quickly brushed the thought aside as he lightly put the steaming tea next to Aziraphale’s head, only slightly encouraging the warm scent towards the sleeping angel.

Light golden eyelashes fluttered and Aziraphale let out a low groan as he came around. His eyes caught on the tea first and a light smile danced over his lips before the angel noticed Crowley leaning against the wall next to him. Crowley chuckled at the little jump of surprise that flickered through Aziraphale before he flopped elegantly onto the sofa tucked next to the desk.

“Risse and sshine,” the demon hissed delightedly as Aziraphale yawned wide. Aziraphale nodded absently as he sat up, stretched, and took a sip of his tea. The small smile returned as the sugar hit him and Crowley felt deep in his bones that he would do anything to keep that light on Aziraphale’s lips. Internally he frowned at that thought as it slipped past, putting a flag on it to look at it when he was drunk enough to cope. Outwardly, he gulped down some of his coffee and crossed his stretched out legs.

“What are you reading, angel?” He asked after a few long minutes of companionable silence. Aziraphale’s eyes flickered towards the open book, a light pink flushing his face momentarily before he turned towards Crowley.

“ _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_. Adam was kind enough to leave me my own copy, my dear. Even if it might not prove useful now, I have waited a very long time to read it. It reminded me of some old memories,” the angel explained, idly flipping through the pages. He landed on one before handing the book to Crowley.

“Prophecy 2,386,” Crowley read aloud, “‘do not drink the bloode of Navarro for it will bringe dark thohtss to roost.’ Oh my, I remember that night!” he exclaimed, thinking back to a dark summer night in the north of Spain when the Inquisition was a still fresh wound. He and Aziraphale had holed up in a small village inn, bottles of fine Navarre wine passed between them. It was the first time Crowley could remember Aziraphale voicing doubt in the Great Plan. Crowley had been equally morose that evening, having been reamed by Hastur for something that was now long forgotten.

Aziraphale smiled as he took the book back and flipped through the pages. Crowley sipped at his cooling coffee as the angel searched for something, regarded the line of Aziraphale’s neck through his dark sunglasses thoughtlessly. He caught himself as his eyes drifted lower over the thick cream wool of his friend’s jumper and focused intently instead on his coffee. Idle hands and all that.

“Do you remember this?” the voice drew Crowley from his suddenly somber thoughts and he looked up to see Aziraphale tentatively handing the book back to him. He took it casually as he drank from his cup, glanced down at the page, and immediately choked on his drink.

“‘Prophecy 1,666. At which houre the snake cometh to the broken wall guarde well thy wings f'r that gentle darke shall claimeth what once stoode in flight.’” Aziraphale faintly quoted. Crowley felt like someone had switched off time and he was stuck in the space between one second and the next. He sat tensely on the sofa, mouth slightly agape as he searched for a way to explain himself. Aziraphale leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees, eyes unreadable but patient as they fixed on the demon.

Crowley opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, made a somewhat strangled noise, and finally sighed. He slumped in on himself quite uncharacteristically and put the now cold coffee on the table next to him. Avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes, he silently reached into his breast pocket and so gently it was like he was handling glass, he pulled a single perfect white feather from his jacket. The demon cradled it, making no move to hand it over to the original owner, and sighed once more.

Of course that witch would rat him out, the demon thought bitterly to himself. He’d guarded this secret for millennia and it took the end of the world and one jumped up prophetess to throw his ass to the curb.

“We’d jusst met, the demon who led to the expulsion of Humanity from the Garden and the angel who had broken the rules to give them a chance to ssurvive. You should have looked down on me, should have never talked to me. I had fallen and you had not, and yet the first thunderstorm hit and you ssheltered me without a thought.”

Crowley paused, his mouth felt incredibly dry and his heart was racing. He still hadn’t looked at Aziraphale, the sudden terror that tripped through his nerves kept his eyes locked on the soft feather that had for so long been his most prized possession. How could he possibly explain why he had kept it, what it had meant to him in the dark years when the price of falling had felt impossibly high. What dreams it had held in the secretest parts of his shrivelled heart.

The thing about wings, especially angel wings, was that even individual feathers had power. They had at one point been connected to the Holy Host, how could they not absorb some of that sublime energy? So while you couldn’t say, pull a miracle with a single feather, there was a _feeling_ to it, an aura that reminded the beholder of what beauty actually was.

In a way, each feather also remained connected to the wings it fell from. It remembered it had once been a part of something bigger and it could occasionally be used for a variety of things one would need ethereal intervention for.

A hand landed gently on Crowley’s thigh and it took everything in him not to jump. Aziraphale had scooted his chair closer while the demon fought with himself, made no move to say anything, but waited patiently for the words to claw themselves from Crowley’s mouth.

“It—you—I,” he stumbled, tripping over his tongue in a most un-Crowley manner that, given half a chance, he would gladly throw himself off the walls of Eden to avoid this conversation. He’d avoided it for millennia, surely he could walk away and they would never speak of it again.

Finally Crowley tore his eyes from the feather and quickly glanced at Aziraphale. The angel looked at him with such gentle understanding that a lesser demon would have broken down and begged for judgement to escape. Crowley just took a deep breath.

“I didn’t mean to fall, but you’re the only one who’ss never looked at me like it wass my fault. Or that you didn’t care, I don’t know, angel” he mumbled. “I found thiss after you had left to repair the wall, I knew it might come in handy eventually so I took it. Thought I’d use it to keep tabs on you, or to meddle with your miracles. I didn’t meddle—” he said quickly at the slightest twinge of upset that passed through Aziraphale.

“I did keep tabs though. It was an easy way to confirm I wassn’t alone, just hold it and focus. I couldn’t know exactly where you are, but I could feel your energy through it. Like sipping on a hot toddy.”

A brief smile flitted unconsciously over Crowley’s face before it darkened again. Aziraphale said nothing, urging Crowley on with his silence.

“Then there was the century I was assleep. I kept it close and I dreamed of all that had passed. You on the edge of the Sea of Galilee, days in the ssun in Rome. I find I can’t have nightmares if I’m near it and for a while I grew sso tired of the night, what it brought. And then—”

Crowley didn’t want to think back to the times when the air between them had been fraught, when the silence had reigned so completely that it felt like nothing could cross it. He didn’t want to think about how Aziraphale had looked at him that time he’d asked for the dreaded impossible.

Their Arrangement had lasted _six thousand years_ , and now Crowley felt like it was crumbling from beneath him. Six thousand years, one avoided apocalypse, and this was how the world actually ended. Not in flame, not in war, but with an almost confession from a demon who had never meant to fall in the first place.

Crowley silently placed the perfect feather on the table and in the moment it seemed the hardest thing he’d ever done. But if this was going tits up it would only serve as a painful reminder of everything he’d fucked up.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, “Oh,  _my dear boy_.”

Fingers clasped lightly at Crowley’s chin, tugging it gently towards the angel. He felt his sunglasses slip from his face as Aziraphale gingerly took them off. The demon wouldn’t meet his gaze and he heard a low sigh come from the man.

“ _Crowley_.” Damn him, Crowley had never been able to resist the pull of that voice, even when he’d been in the deepest pits of denial. He forced his eyes up in time to see the determined look that was usually confined to people threatening his books before Aziraphale leaned over and pressed his lips against Crowley’s.

Time had actually stopped this time, he was sure of it. Every inch of Crowley was frozen and his eyes blown wide as he tried to process the shift in gears. Before his brain caught up Aziraphale pulled back quickly, a deep blush staining his neck and cheeks.

The angel looked wearily at Crowley while the demon sat slack-jawed. “Do you remember when you first asked me for holy water?” Aziraphale asked quietly. Crowley said nothing, but his jaw clicked shut and he clenched his teeth. “Do you know why I didn’t want to give it to you?”

“You didn’t want to give me a weapon that powerful—”

“ _No_ , no that’s not it in the least,” Aziraphale interrupted in a rush. “Crowley, you asked me for the one thing that would erase you from existence. I didn’t—I _don’t_ want to exist in a universe you do not, my dear.”

Crowley stared wide-eyed at him, hearing but unable to process. He had asked the angel to run away with him. He had _begged_ Aziraphale to run away with him. Multiple times. He hadn’t dared to think the man had seen him as anything more than a demon. Something not needed and often not wanted.

Aziraphale went on, his voice tumbling over itself in the rush to escape his lips. “I didn’t understand it at the time, all I knew was every atom in me recoiled from the thought of you not being here. I didn’t know what to do.”

Crowley continued to stare at the angel like he could pick the answers to every question he ever asked out of the open face. Aziraphale’s plump fingers still caressed the demon’s chin, almost unforgotten as they both searched each other’s eyes. Crowley slowly reached up, hesitant and shaking, and grasped the hand in his own. He watched the angel’s face closely as he pressed the lightest of kisses into the knuckles, felt something within himself crack as Aziraphale let out an unsteady breath.

“Angel, you have _no idea_ how hard I died when you left,” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale looked on the edge of tears for a moment but he pushed on. “I went through every conversation, every word I ever ssaid, and I saw how far I’d let myself be led by you. I hadn’t realized that when I suggested the Arrangement that it wasn’t because I wanted to tempt you to fall, I did it because I wanted you to _sstay_.”

A shocked moment of silence passed before Aziraphale broke out into choked laughter. Bent double at the waist, Crowley looked on—startled and slightly terrified—as the angel struggled to gain control over himself. Tears streamed freely from his eyes as he laughed, after a few moments finally gasping out breath and leaning heavily on Crowley’s leg.

“Oh, my boy, my sweet boy,” the angel chuckled to himself. “Oh Crowley, it may have taken me far too long to understand, but the only way I could ever leave you is if I am dragged kicking and screaming from your side. I am quite sorry it took me so long to see.”

It felt like a glass wall had surrounded Crowley, all sound suddenly cut off except for the thundering of his heart in his ears. He gaped at Aziraphale wordlessly for a long moment, tried to say something, fell silent, tried to say something else, his eyes flickering wildly around. Finally, he slumped back into the sofa and covered his eyes wearily with his free hand.

“That’ss it, I’ve finally cracked. Hastur’s going to love thiss,” Crowley chided himself. His mouth snapped shut at the fleeting anger that swept over Aziraphale’s expression.

“No, you don’t get to do that, old boy. We survived Armageddon, you can handle a conversation about fee—”

“If you say _feelings_ I’m dunking my head in the next church font I see.” The anger that had flashed past before now settled in the crease of Aziraphale’s brows. If Crowley had been able to tell up from down he probably would have been mildly frightened by the intensity.

“If I ever hear you threaten to destroy yourself again, even in jest, I will chain you in the basement for a century with _The Sound of Music_ on repeat. You don’t get to take away the one I love most, you don’t—” Crowley pulled sharply at the hand he held and Aziraphale was cut off as he fell in a heap across the demon’s lap, Crowley’s other hand coming up to cup his face and pull the angel into a deep kiss.

Aziraphale felt so warm, so soft, so completely pure and perfect that Crowley would have pinched himself had he had a hand free. Instead he focused on gently opening the mouth beneath him and exploring the depths he’d only ever dreamed of. Hands wandered, grasping at skin, at clothes, anything that could be pulled close, anything that could erase the non-existent distance between them.

A small groan slipped past Aziraphale’s lips as Crowley pulled back and a small smirk settled on the demon’s face. He loved the pink glow to Aziraphale’s skin, the small piece of anger that lingered in the corner of his eyes, the wonder that lay barely contained beneath them. Crowley took it all in as he held the angel tightly to him.

“What now?” Aziraphale asked exasperatedly as Crowley continued to Look and Smirk at him. Crowley smirked even wider.

“You ssaid you _loved_ me,” he laughed a little wildly, unsure about how this had all come to pass. “You said you loved me _mossst_.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, shifting so he wasn’t sitting awkwardly in the demon’s lap. He did leave his legs hanging over Crowley’s though, so he knew that Aziraphale wasn’t going to dump him on his ass and walk away.

“Yes, well, I’m enough of a bastard to know when something is _mine_.” And yes, Crowley definitely noted the hint of possession in the angel’s tone and wasn’t _that_ interesting.

Instead of commenting, he stuck a pin in that to explore at a later when he had plenty of time to study this part of Aziraphale in an almost unholy level of detail. What he did instead of commenting was to tuck the angel firmly into his side and to take up the very important research he’d been waiting six thousand years to undertake.

Namely, finding out the many sounds that Aziraphale could make. Crowley applied himself to his studies with the fullest extent of his power.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks. Lets be honest, I haven't written anything in forever, and I haven't finished anything in an even longer time. This may be done? Maybe there'll be more? IDK, we'll say its complete for now and y'all can let me know if you want more.


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